by Joanna Wayne
“He was there. I didn’t see him, but I’m sure of it. He’s everywhere. I don’t how he does it, but he seems to know everything I do and everywhere I go.”
Sam swerved into a loading zone near the restaurant. “I think this may go better if you do the talking. Don’t mention I’m a cop or that this has anything to do with the murders until we talk to Becky in private.”
Bon Appetit was already full even though it was just after 10 a.m. Coffeehouses were finally in vogue in Prentice.
Caroline went to the counter by the cash register. “Is Becky in? I need to talk to her.”
“No, she took the day off. I guess you heard her big news.”
“The news that she’s engaged?”
“What else?”
“Did Becky say where she’d be today?”
“No, but I got the impression she was going somewhere with Jack.”
“But she didn’t say where?”
“No. Is something wrong? You look really upset.”
“I need to get in touch with her right away. Do you know how to reach Jack?”
“Don’t have a clue. You might try Becky’s parents. Or you can try calling her at home. She may not have left yet.”
“Thanks, and if you talk to her, tell her to call me at once. Tell her it’s very important.”
“Gotcha.”
CAROLINE WAS SHAKING when she got back in the car. Sam reached across the seat, took her hand and squeezed it.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Caroline. There’s no reason to think Becky’s in danger.”
“She’s with a heartless, brutal killer.”
“That’s possible, but she’s apparently been with him often. They’re engaged.”
“More than that, Sam. She told me yesterday they’re planning to elope.”
He groaned. “Then they could be anywhere. Tell me about her parents.”
“Her dad is Dr. Scott Simpson. He’s a pediatrician with an office next door to Prentice Hospital. Her mother doesn’t work. They live near the country club.”
“Try to reach Becky at home. If she’s there, tell her you need to talk to her and ask her to stay home until you get there. Don’t tell her the reason for the visit.”
“She’s got to know sometime, Sam.”
“Jack could be there. If you alert him something’s wrong, he’ll bolt.”
“Or hurt Becky. Oh, Sam…let’s just drive by there. It’s not far.”
“Okay. In the meantime, go ahead and call her mother. If she doesn’t know how to get in touch with Becky, see if she knows how to reach Jack. A phone number. His parents’ name. Where they live. Anything. And I know you’re upset, but try to stay calm.”
She was about as calm as the ocean in the middle of a hurricane. Still, she managed to carry on what she hoped was a halfway sane conversation with Mrs. Simpson.
“What did you find out?” Sam asked the second she broke the connection.
“Becky’s not at home. She called her mother about an hour ago to say she was going off for a few days with Jack.”
Sam slammed a fist against the steering wheel. “Did she give you any information about Jack?”
“He lives with his parents just south of Gadsden, Alabama, which is about a two-hour drive from Prentice. She doesn’t have an address but his dad owns a car dealership in Gadsden.”
“That should do it. I have to stop off at the station to take care of some paperwork and talk to the Gadsden police. After that, I’ll drop you off at the newspaper, but I don’t want you to leave the office today. I’ll have one of the guys pick you up after work, take you home and stay there with you until I get back.”
“No.”
“No to which part of that?”
“No to all of it. I’m going with you.”
“This is police business.”
“And it’s mine. Do you have any idea what it’s like to know someone you care about is in danger?”
“I do.” His tone was solemn as if her words had sucked the fight right out of him. He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You can go, but I have to handle this. If Jack’s guilty, I’m not going to have him walk on a technicality.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
She wanted to be there on the scene while this played out, but even getting her way with that didn’t ease the apprehension that had seized her heart.
ALBERT JACKSON SMITH was well-known by the Gadsden Police Department and had been since he was fifteen years old. He was twenty-eight now. As a juvenile he’d been arrested for burglarizing a house and stealing guns and ammunition, hauled in on charges of sexual battery against a fourteen-year-old girl and accused of poisoning his neighbor’s dog.
None of the charges had stuck and he’d never spent more than a couple of days in a juvenile facility. His dad had influence and big bucks.
As an adult he’d been arrested several times for drug possession, three times for disorderly conduct and once for simple battery. None of those charges had stuck, either. According to the detective Sam had talked to, Jack was savvy, a pathological liar, and for some reason, witnesses against him always dropped charges before a case went to trial. Sam had a good idea why.
But this time a witness had talked. If nothing else, they could arrest him for attempted rape and hold him while they investigated the two murders. There was already an APB out on him and the sketch had been sent to every police department in Georgia, Alabama and the surrounding states.
He had no idea why Jack had given a false name to Trudy and Sally and his real name to Becky, but suspected it had to do with Becky’s socioeconomic standing. He might have had plans to worm his way into her life permanently from the very beginning.
Sam pulled up in front of the car dealership owned by Jack’s father. It was impressive, a big lot with a huge supply of new vehicles and quite a few used but late-model cars lined up and glittering in the afternoon sun. The showroom, all gleaming steel and plate glass, was the latest in sleek, modern architecture. Unless there were some serious management problems, the Smiths did not want for cash.
Sam parked in the customer area. “That’s our guy in the green car,” Sam said. “Detective Williams from the Gadsden Police Department. Right on time.”
“Will he do the talking,” Caroline asked, “or will you?”
“I’m pitching the game. He’s just here to make it all legal, since this is out of my jurisdiction.”
“Will you tell Mr. Smith that his son is wanted for murder?”
“All depends on how I read him. Half of detective work is gut instinct. The other half is luck. We need both today.”
He reached across the seat and touched Caroline’s shoulder, letting his fingers tangle for a second in the soft locks of her hair. He almost felt guilty for getting the kind of adrenaline rush he always got when he was closing in on a suspect, especially when he knew how tough this was on her. But she was hanging in there. Soft as a kitten. Tough as a Doberman.
JACK DID NOT GET his looks from this father, Caroline decided as the short, balding man with the extra-large spare tire protruding over his belt led them into a luxurious office. His face was the color of Georgia clay, but his eyes were the same striking pale blue as his son’s.
He was smiling broadly when he closed the door to his office, but his expression became agitated as soon as Sam introduced himself and the other detective as police officers.
“We’re trying to locate your son, Jack. Do you know where we can find him?”
“What did he do?”
“Maybe nothing, but we’d like to ask him a few questions.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“As a matter of fact I do. So do you know how we can reach him?”
“He’s twenty-eight years old. I don’t follow him around.”
“I was under the impression that he works here.”
“He’s off this week, on vacation somewhere.”
“And you don’t have any idea how to reach him?”
“Does he have a cell phone?”
“When he’s working, he uses one of the company ones, but he doesn’t take it with him when he’s off. Says he likes to get away from everything. You know how kids his age are.”
“Twenty-eight’s not exactly a kid, Mr. Smith.”
“You’re right, and whatever he’s done now, I’m not responsible.”
“You’re only responsible if you cover up for him.”
“What is it you’re accusing him of?”
“We just want to talk to him.”
The Gadsden cop pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. “When you hear from him, have him call me. My number’s on the card.” When the guy didn’t reach to take it, Williams dropped it on top of his desk. “He can call either number. Any time, day or night.”
The man glared at him, then looked at Caroline. His gaze seemed to bore right through her, and she felt as if she’d been touched by something dirty, sordid. Jack didn’t get his looks from his father, but she’d bet he’d gotten his sick sexual ways from him. Maybe even his appetite for murder.
“Just have Jack call, Mr. Smith,” Sam said, his tone almost threatening. “Unless we find him first.”
ALBERT JACKSON SENIOR watched the two arrogant detectives and the woman drive out of the parking lot. They thought they were so smart. But they hadn’t fooled him for a second. He recognized Sam Turner from TV and newspaper coverage of the Prentice murders.
Jack was in big trouble this time. That part was no surprise. He just kept pushing the envelope further and further. That was why he’d been ordered out of the house and cut off from his funds.
But murder? Albert never thought his son would go that far. He didn’t want to believe it now.
And he wouldn’t. Not until he knew for sure. But this time he was scared. He locked the door. He needed privacy for the phone call he was about to make. He went back, lifted the receiver and dialed his son’s cell-phone number.
No matter what he’d done, Jack was still his son. He had to be warned.
IT WAS FIVE-THIRTY by the time Caroline got back to the newspaper office. Most of the reporters and clerical staff had gone for the day, but a few remained. And John and the printing crew were in the back setting up for the next morning’s edition.
The APB was still out for Jack, along with Josephine’s sketch and a picture of Becky that Caroline had provided, but there’d been no reports of anyone seeing them. Sam was at the police station and would be for several more hours.
He’d suggested she go home and rest—with a cop along as bodyguard just in case Jack was crazy enough to come after her. But she was too keyed up to rest. Better to be at work and staying busy.
She turned on her computer monitor. The story couldn’t break yet, but she wanted to write something on composite sketching while it was still fresh in her mind. It was only when she started to type that her mind switched gears and she wrote what flowed into it.
Albert Jackson Smith had everything. A family. Money. Nice clothes. Good looks. But somewhere along the way his mind became a cesspool, festering and suppurating until it was so diseased he no longer separated right from wrong. And in that sick and depraved state, he took the lives of two young women—
The ring of her cell phone startled her and sent her heart rate spiraling. She checked the digital readout. The number was Becky’s. Her heart leaped to her throat as she hit the talk button and took the call.
“Becky. Where are you?”
“She’s with me, and if you ever want to see her alive again, you better listen and listen good.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Jack. Where are you? Where’s Becky?”
“I said for you to listen, not ask questions.”
“The police know all about you. You can’t get away with this. You have to give yourself up.”
“All the police know is what that lying bitch who works at the Catfish Shack told them.”
“Then don’t hurt Becky. Just come back to town and tell the police the truth.”
“Well, that would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it, if you and your detective friend weren’t trying to pin those two murders on me.”
“You told Trudy your name was Billy and you threatened her.”
“Yeah, I did that. And I ran her into the ditch ’cause she has a big mouth and I knew sooner or later she was going to talk. But I didn’t kill anybody and I’m not taking the rap.”
She didn’t believe him, but if she told him that, it would only put Becky in more danger. She had to reason with him if there was any reasoning with a madman. “No one’s trying to pin anything on you, Jack, but the police need to hear your side of the story.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s the police, all right. They’re always just looking for the truth and trying to help out guys like me.”
“They are if you’re innocent.”
“Nobody’s innocent, Caroline. Certainly not the stinking cops.”
“Where’s Becky?”
“She’s with me.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“That’s why I called, sweetheart, for you to do that. You started this when you went to see my dad.”
“No one mentioned the murders to your father, I swear.”
“He’s not stupid. When the detective heading up the Prentice Park Killer investigation comes calling on him in the middle of the day, he doesn’t think it’s because I stole money from a drink machine.”
“What do you want me to tell Becky?”
“That you know the cops are planning to pin the murders on me just because the flake at the Catfish Shack said I dated Sally Martin a few times. Tell Becky to run with me. And you better do a damn good job of convincing her. If you fail, I’ll kill her. But I won’t waste my time finding a park or cutting her throat. I’ll shoot her so full of holes she’ll look like Swiss cheese.”
“You go on the run, Jack. Just don’t take Becky with you. You’ll have a better chance of getting away by yourself.”
“But I’d be a lot poorer.”
“So this was never about love or your actually wanting to marry her. It’s about her money.”
“Aw, Caroline, you are indeed a smart woman. Stay that way. You convince her to go with me willingly, and she lives. If she causes trouble, I kill her. Easy choice, sweetheart. So what’ll it be?”
It was no choice at all. She had to buy time. “Put her on the phone, Jack.”
“Okay. Hold on, and I’ll get her.”
“Get her from where?”
“Don’t worry. She’s just in the shower—this time.”
There had to be a way to handle this, a way to let Becky know what was going on and still keep her safe. But all Caroline could think of was Sally and Ruby. Dead.
“Hi, Caroline.”
Caroline exhaled slowly, fighting panic, trying to think what to say. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m so upset. I just want to go home, but Jack’s begging me to go with him.”
“Go where?”
“I don’t know. On a plane somewhere out of the country. His dad said a couple of cops came to see him today. He thinks Jack’s going to be arrested for murdering those two women in Prentice. He didn’t do it. I know he didn’t, but he doesn’t think the cops will believe him.”
The stand-by-your-man syndrome. Sam had called it right.
“What did Jack’s dad think he should do?”
“Give himself up. I think he should, too, but he’s really afraid they’ll railroad him just because he’s been arrested a few times for smoking pot. I told him I’d get him the best lawyer money can buy, but he’s scared, Caroline. We both are. I just don’t know what to do.”
Caroline knew that if Becky got on that plane with Jack, she’d never see her alive again. Jack would find a way to get her inheritance transferred to his name and then he’d kill her. But if she tried to leave him now, he’d kill her that much sooner.
Sh
e wished Sam was here. He’d know what to say, what to do. But she had to make the call all by herself, and either way she called it, Becky lost the toss. It was just now—or later.
“I think Jack’s right. Go with him, Becky, but I doubt you can get a flight out tonight. It’s late.”
“We can. But it’s—”
“You’re leaving the country tonight?”
“No, I was wrong about that. There’s no flight tonight. Uh…we’re not leaving the country.”
She was lying. Jack had said or done something to make her change her story.
“I have to go, Caroline. But thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
Oh, yeah. Count on her to send her out of the country with a killer. What are friends for? “Take care, Becky. Stay in touch.”
“I will.”
And that was it. Caroline dialed Sam’s number, praying he wasn’t on the phone or that for some reason he wasn’t answering. Becky and Jack would be on a flight out of the country tonight unless Sam found a way to stop them.
He answered on the second ring.
THE PRENTICE PARK KILLER sat on his deck, which overlooked the offices of the Prentice Times. The apartment was old and dumpy, and the furnishings and curtains reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
Ah, but it was worth it for the view.
From his deck or his kitchen window, he could see if Caroline’s car was in the parking lot. Sometimes he’d catch a glimpse of her when she came in or when she left. The view wasn’t that great with his naked eye, but if he used the binoculars, he could see all her features. Her long, shapely legs. Her full breasts. Her seductive lips.
But he hadn’t paid that much attention to her until that night in the park when she’d worn the red dress. He longed to see her in that again. And he would. He’d get her to wear that for him when they killed his next victim.
After that, they’d make love. She’d realize then that he was the one she should always have been with. But she’d made a mistake. Got mixed up with Sam Turner, which meant she’d have to die.
